


Safekeeping

by queercyberpunk



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Eventual Fluff, Eventual Romance, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-10
Updated: 2016-12-28
Packaged: 2018-07-14 03:43:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 12,206
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7151672
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/queercyberpunk/pseuds/queercyberpunk
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Zenyatta is no stranger to broken souls but Genji's is more broken than most. Zenyatta offers him mentoring, kindness, and a place to heal. They become connected first as master and student, and then later as lifelong companions--the soul, Zenyatta realizes, is curious and surprising thing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Zenyatta waits, hands clasped loosely in front of him as he meditates.

The umber sunset blazes from beyond the sliding paper doors. Zenyatta laments that he was too late to see the cherry blossoms in full bloom; it has been many years since he has traveled to Japan and he would’ve liked to have seen them.

Zenyatta lets his orbs flow around him soothingly. Their measured rotations give him a kind of steady calm as he focuses his consciousness. He is still awaiting his guest but he will come with time. This, Zenyatta is sure of.

The curve of the sun dips from sight, but the sky is still burning with its memory. Zenyatta rarely regrets his mechanical form yet he can’t help but wonder what the summer sun might smell like--what the rural breeze might taste like, had he a mouth. These things will always be a mystery to him but to achieve peace, he must accept this. To exist, Zenyatta decides, is such a precious, rare thing. He was built with the gift of a soul and that is more than enough to suffice.

Zenyatta can hear footsteps. They are light, of course, nigh undetectable to the human ear. Though he cannot taste or smell, his other sensory perceptions are keen.

Zenyatta holds his tranquil pose as the footfalls grow nearer. A form, armored and hazy, falls lightly from the rooftop. The form pads closer, cautious and poised as if ready for battle.

“So you are here,” Zenyatta says, his orbs stilling in their steady revolutions.

“Who are you?”

The form comes closer, into the light of the room. He is tall, armored, and masked. But Zenyatta knows well the many expressions of those without human features. He can sense the tense curl of the man’s body and the light bend in his knees, ready to break into a run. He can see the minute, aggressive tilt to his chin.

“I am Zenyatta. Come, sit with me for a while.”

“Why was I sent here?”

“You are full of questions,” Zenyatta retorts. He gestures to the cushion near him. “Sit, and all will be answered.”

They stay for a moment as they are--locked in a silent struggle. The man is untrusting and wary; Zenyatta knows enough of him to understand. But Zenyatta also believes a gentle hand, extended in good faith, is scarcely spurned. Finally, the man seems to waver. His hand is still hovering near the blade slung against his lower back but he comes closer.

The man seems to think that this distance is enough but Zenyatta remains ensconced in silence, awaiting for him to sit. Finally, the man does so, perching awkwardly before the table.

“I have been awaiting you, Genji Shimada.”

Genji is on him in a moment, sword unslung and pressed to the wires and pistons of Zenyatta’s neck. He crouches like a predator ready for his next kill but Zenyatta is perfectly still.

“How do you know that name?” Genji asks, low and fierce. Zenyatta can feel rage rolling off of him but meets it with his own resolute calm.

“I was told of you and have very much desired to meet you. You have been plagued by many hardships, Genji. I wish only to speak with you.”

“What is there to talk about?” Genji’s sword is still pressed to Zenyatta’s neck. He seems to bristle at the very mention of his own name. “I doubt I was sent here to _talk_.”

“But you were, Genji. There is much to discuss. You are something of an anomaly: neither man nor machine, destined to walk forever between the two. You are filled with such anger--I wonder if you have ever known peace?”

Genji draws back his sword and smoothly sheathes it. “I was never destined for peace,” he spits. “Was this the work of Doctor Ziegler?”

“True, it was she who asked me to speak with you. No doubt, she thought I could understand your unique duality. I believe that omnic and human can live as one in true peace. Only you can perceive the gulf between the two.” Zenyatta pauses to turn his gaze towards the sky, now almost dark. “But more than that, I wish to bring you peace. You are a troubled soul, young Genji, filled with pain. I wish to guide you onto a different path.”

“You know nothing of me, omnic.” Genji stands, turning his back to Zenyatta and beginning to pace across the room towards the open doorway.

“Let me ask but one thing,” Zenyatta says. “When you saw the great Shimada at your feet, set ablaze by your hand, what did you feel?”

Genji hesitates. His back is facing towards Zenyatta, the edges of his armor glowing an iridescent green. A bit of steam escapes the valves at his shoulders, drifting away from him on the summer breeze.

“I felt nothing,” Genji answers.

“Come talk with me again, Genji. I will be staying here for a time before I continue on my pilgrimage. My full name is Tekhartha Zenyatta, though simply Zenyatta will suffice.”

Genji is still for a moment before slinking off into the early evening. He melts into shadow and then he is gone. And now, Zenyatta can only wait.


	2. Chapter 2

Zenyatta is pleased when Genji comes again. He skulks in the shadows for a time before deciding to let himself into Zenyatta’s room. Zenyatta can tell that he is less tense than before. He still moves with the predacious gait of warrior but his form is noticeably more relaxed.

Zenyatta is meditating in the same spot as the time before. He had spent the day consulting with omnic and human alike, offering his advice wherever needed. When he returned to the inn, he had rested his systems for a time and meditated afterwards, Genji hanging obscurely in his thoughts. He had hoped, for many days, that Genji would come and now he has.

“Come, sit by me once more.”

Genji says nothing but moves closer. Zenyatta has consulted with many and knows a skeptic on instinct alone. Genji is waiting, tenuous in his trust. He awaits a reason to leave and never look back. But Zenyatta enjoys rising to a challenge.

“I’m pleased you came, Genji.”

Genji is still silent, the ambient green of his visor implacable. This does not perturb Zenyatta, however, who continues, measured and placid. “If it is not too much to ask, I would like to hear the story of yourself.”

This seems to puzzle Genji, whose head tilts ever so slightly. “My story?”

“Yes. Our lives are collections of stories. The present becomes the past in a single instant and the past becomes a memory. The memory becomes a story we share. I wish to hear your story, from the very beginning.”

Zenyatta thinks that Genji must be shuffling through the assorted memories within him, trying to locate a beginning. It was a good start; all things must first begin with self-reflection.

“I do not see how that matters,” Genji finally says, sounding equally confused and unwilling.

“It is everything,” Zenyatta responds resolutely. “Your story of oneself helps to define the soul. Before the soul can be at peace, it must be laid bare.”

“You speak in platitudes,” Genji snaps. “A machine spouting Buddhist gibberish--it’s absurd.”

“If that is how you see it, then so be it. However, I still wish to hear your story. Begin from wherever you see fit.”

Zenyatta’s mild rebuff seems to puzzle Genji even further. Despite his harsh words, Zenyatta holds his unshakeable pose. He floats lightly, several inches from the floor, seemingly unruffled by Genji’s rudeness.

Zenyatta can tell no one has ever asked Genji of himself. Zenyatta can feel the neglected young boy of a distant past, who grew into a resentful man--the truth of himself buried in clandestine places within. Zenyatta wonders if anyone has ever spoken candidly with him.

Still, Zenyatta waits, his calm impenetrable. Genji takes a long, slow breath before speaking.

“I suppose the beginning to all things is birth. I was born the second son into the Shimada clan. A clan of criminals and thugs. I hated it for as long as I could remember. Of course, my brother was the model son--the perfect son. I was the outcast, the unruly son. I spent many a day wandering the streets of Hanamura, spending as many hours as I could away from home.

“Father was ill and grew iller by the day. Hanzo cared for him and readied himself to take over the family name. I was still rebellious and he demanded I take my place within the Shimada clan. I refused.”

Genji lets silence reign. “What happened then, Genji?” Zenyatta prompts gently. Genji seems to be struggling to find the correct words.

“My brother...he told me I would either fall in line or face the consequences. I told him to leave me alone--I would never be a pawn for the Shimada clan. He...he warned me. I did not listen--did not think that the consequences he spoke of would come to pass.”

Genji shifts, crossing his legs in a nervous gesture. He laces his fingers together, tightening his grip as he continued.

“But then I realized how serious he was. After father died, he was then in charge of everything. I still refused to agree with him--I told him the Shimada were an honorless clan. That is when he came for me. It was late and he found me in the arcade, whiling away my hours on the games. He told me this was my final chance--my final opportunity. I told him to leave--run back to the Shimada estate where he belonged. He looked sorrowful, almost.

“When I finally came back home, he was waiting for me, sword drawn. I was a decent fighter but I was younger and unarmed. I never stood a chance against him. He tore me apart on his blade--the price of disobeying his authority. The Shimada authority. I lay there dying in a haze, watching myself from far away as I began to slip towards death. I do not know how I came into the hands of Overwatch--only that they gave me a choice. That choice was to either die as a human or live as something else. I was not ready to die. So I chose to live and revenge the wrongs against me.”

Genji’s hands tighten into fists. “I was not ready to die. Maybe it was cowardice but I did not want to. Now, I am this.”

“And you fulfilled your revenge, did you not?” Zenyatta queries.

“Almost.”

“And what is the missing piece?”

Genji tips his head back, visor turning towards the ceiling. His hands have balled into even tighter fists, nearly quaking. “I think you know what it is,” Genji says lowly. The tension coils in him like a spring. “I have to kill the man who killed me.”

“Was this man not with the Shimada clan when you dismantled it?”

“No, he was not. He was gone. He must have ran away. I did not think one who favored himself so honorable would run. But I have been wrong about him before.”

Zenyatta ponders this for a moment, trying to tug at the untied ends of Genji’s story, trace his words to the hiding place of his true self. “Have you ever questioned why this man ran? The Shimada were caught unawares when they were undone by Overwatch. I do not think a man who would sacrifice so much for his clan would turn his back upon it at the first trace of danger.”

Genji slams his fist against the table. The heavy, echoing _thunk_ rings throughout the sparse room. “He is a fool clinging the false pretense of honor. I do not doubt he ran to save himself. And now he hides in obscurity, still clinging to his miserable life and his pitiful honor!”

Zenyatta bows his head, letting his orbs whirl around him thoughtfully. “Perhaps there are missing pages to your story, Genji. Perhaps there are things you could not see before. But now, you look upon the world with new eyes. You must open them to all things.”

“And what would I see? A brother who cares for me? An honorable brother? Tell me what my eyes have missed, omnic.”

“You will never know if you are too afraid to use them,” Zenyatta says. Genji turns away, steam breathing out from his valves. He stands and turns to go.

 “I trust you are still able to eat and drink as any human? I can prepare tea,” Zenyatta proffers. “Sit a while longer. We can speak of more pleasant things for a time.”

“An omnic preparing tea,” Genji says, the words almost sounding like a question.

“I have many guests, both human and omnic alike. Though I do not require sustenance to exist, some who seek my guidance do. I find that sharing tea or a meal with another being, though I myself cannot partake, is a sacred thing. A thing of trust and hospitality. So please, allow me to prepare you a cup.”

“Keep your tea.” Genji continues across the tatami mats, towards the sliding doors.

“I shall prepare it next time, then.”

Genji says nothing as he leaps lightly through the doorway and darts off again into the night.


	3. Chapter 3

The third time Genji comes to visit, it is early evening and Zenyatta is busy with a guest. They have come to him, hearing of his work and seeking guidance. The omnic in question possesses a squarish face with two luminescent dots on the front of their forehead. They wear simple, loose clothing and treat Zenyatta with the greatest deference.

The omnic sits beside Zenyatta, the two dots gleaming dimly. Zenyatta waits for the omnic to muster the courage to ask for whatever answers they seek.

Of course, Zenyatta can sense Genji’s presence lurking from beyond the paper screens. But he lets him remain while the omnic fumbles with their words.

“I have a question, Master Zenyatta.”

“And I hope that I shall have an answer. Please, ask it, my child.”

The omnic laces his fingers together--a faint click of metal on metal. “I have been wondering...as of late...I have been thinking many things. It is something that should be beyond an omnic but...can an omnic experience love? Can we feel love like humans do?”

“Is there someone you love?” Zenyatta asks. The nervous gesturing of the omnic intensifies. They fidget and the tilt their face away from him.

“I...I am not sure.”

“Tell me about this person.”

The words are slow at first, then come fast like rushing water. The omnic begins their descriptions in detail both vague and minute. The two dots glow brighter as they speak, the earlier unease melting away like early snow. They talk about her soul and her kindness and her warmth. There is a pregnant pause before the omnic makes a final addition to their description.

“She has eyes green like leaves and brown hair that shines in the sun…”

“A human,” Zenyatta asserts.

The omnic seems to deflate at this--a heavy reminder of the chasm between human and omnic. “It’s pointless,” the omnic says, the pitch of his voice falling. “I know it is.”

“Do not discredit your own affections--I have consulted with many omnic and human who have fallen in love. It is neither impossible nor unreasonable. Let me ask you this: do you believe that you possess a soul?”

The omnic hesitates. “Yes, I believe I do.”

“And are we not also children of this Earth? Our bodies are made from the metals taken from the Earth’s crust. Our energy and power comes from the sunlight, converted into electricity. Is it not also the Sun that feeds the flora, which in turn feeds the fauna? Were you or I, upon death, to be buried as a human might, would we not decay? It might take a while longer, but that is merely a wink in the great passage of time. Human and omnic are not so unalike--both of us with a precious soul and consciousness. A soul can experience many things--love, naturally, is an experience within the soul.”

The omnic seems to digest this before speaking again. “Have you ever felt this love, Master Zenyatta?”

“I have felt a great many loves. I have felt love for nature and our Earth. I have felt abiding love for my brothers in Nepal. I have felt love for my friends and disciples. I have felt love for omnic and humans both. There are countless forms of love to be expressed and I have felt many of them. Love is symptomatic of the soul, I believe. The particular kind of which you speak, I have only once. We have since parted yet he remains forever a part of me. So I tell you this, my child: do not be afraid to feel new and unfamiliar things. If you are experiencing something you believe to be love--experience it fully and do not deny yourself. Love may bring pain but it can also bring significant joy. Some say a machine cannot feel like a human does, but you are not simply a machine. You told me yourself: you hold within you a precious soul.”

“But...isn’t it against their nature for a human to...to love an omnic? Is there not a biological instinct?”

Zenyatta ponders this for a moment. “Many an omnic has been programmed to fulfill a task, regardless of their will. It was once thought that omnic could not deny the law of their programs. You and I exist now in conflict to that. Through us, the humans have learned that true consciousness cannot be wholly controlled. Are humans not the same? They are not a slave to the hardwiring of genetics or primal impulse. This person you spoke of is--who is to say that she is incapable of loving an omnic?”

“I...thank you, Master Zenyatta. I think you have helped. I’m sorry to have bothered you so late.”

Zenyatta holds up his hand as if to dismiss the apology. “I am pleased you came. You are always welcome to visit me again, though I doubt I shall be in Japan for much longer. Walk in peace, friend.”

The omnic bows his head in thanks and stands, giving another grateful bow as he turns to go. Zenyatta hears the small sound of the door to his room being slid open and then closed. Zenyatta drifts several inches above the ground, letting his orbs strafe about him. Genji has been there all the while, listening from beyond the paper screens in the garden.

“Did you find any of that useful, Genji?” Zenyatta asks.

“It has nothing to do with me.” Genji steps lightly through the ajar screens and into the room. “I did not mean to eavesdrop.”

“Think nothing of it,” Zenyatta replies. He then floats gently to the ground and uncrosses his legs. Standing, he makes his way over towards a large brown cupboard in the corner of the room. “I hope you shall accept my offer of tea this time.” Though Genji says nothing, Zenyatta is already methodically preparing him a cup.

Genji sits at the low table, crossing his legs as he perches atop a floor cushion. “Is that what you do? Give advice?”

“Among other things,” Zenyatta says, his chassis turned away from Genji. “I wish to foster understanding and empathy between omnic and human. I find the only true way to achieve this is through interpersonal connection. I hope to forge these connections during my travels. Though my impact might seem small, if I can sway the minds of some, there is hope for peace yet.”

“An idealistic notion,” Genji says, a touch derisive.

“I see nothing wrong with idealism. I do not wish to let world turn me to cynicism.”

This silences Genji, who thinks the retort sounds uncannily like an insult.

“Did you find any answers about your brother’s whereabouts?” Zenyatta has finished preparing the tea and sets it before Genji. Genji makes no motion to remove his mask, however, and sits obstinately still.

“I insist.” Zenyatta gestures towards the ceramic cup. He senses Genji’s apprehension and in turn lays a hand gently on his forearm. Genji starts from the sudden touch, withdrawing from it. “Please do not be afraid of my judgement.”

Genji seems to consider this for a moment before slowly detaching the front of his mask. His skin is pink and scarred, stretched thinly across his marred features. The remnants of a handsome man can be divined from the ruins of his face. His mouth is lipless and cracked as he brings the cup to it. Zenyatta studies him impartially--particularly his eyes, which are a fathomless black-brown. They are clever, astute eyes and Zenyatta finds himself admiring them. The eyes of a man who has seen much in spite of his young age.

Genji promptly drains the cup and replaces the front of his mask. “I found...something,” he begins, crossing his arms. “He had been missing for many months before Overwatch undid the Shimada. I looked into the Overwatch reports and even the members of the clan in custody seemed not to know where he had gone.” Genji recrosses his arms as he mulls over his words. “It makes no sense.”

“Most everything in this world has a reason. I do not doubt that your brother had his own reasons for leaving. You say it makes no sense, but I see much sense in his absence. I think he could not bear the guilt of what he did to you and so he tried to escape it. Have you ever considered this, Genji?”

“Guilt?” Genji scoffs. “A man who could murder his own brother in cold blood is not capable of guilt.”

“Did you love your brother, Genji?”

Genji stiffens. “I do not love my brother.”

“But you once did, did you not? If you had not loved him first, you would not hate him as you do now.”

“Once, perhaps. But that is in the past. I feel nothing for him but hatred.”

Zenyatta makes a wide gesture with his hands as he continues. “Do you think there are souls that are unworthy of atonement? I believe that your brother is on his own pilgrimage for the answer to this question. You loved your brother once. Look back into your memories--do you think he bore you the same familial love? Was he kind to you? Did he keep watch over you as your elder brother?”

“Those things have little meaning now,” Genji says bitterly. “He has despoiled every memory.”

“It is true--you have been grievously wronged. You once bore your brother love. Is it impossible to believe that that love can be reborn? There are many things that might seem beyond resurrection but rise again. You are a living testament to this.”

“Are you suggesting I forgive him?” Genji’s visor flashes a vivid, angry green.

“Is it truly your will to kill your brother? To commit the same wrong as he once did? Or can you instead live with the hope that one day that love might arise again from your hatred? Could you live as your brother does now, wandering lost with his soul fractured in two?”

“His death is justice,” Genji says, but he sounds less sure in those words than before.

“Is justice so ruthless? Or can justice be merciful?”

“Such idealism…” Genji repeats. “You cannot understand. You have no flesh and blood, no family of your own.”

“A family is a curious thing. I have had brothers, many of whom bear me ill will for my beliefs. I was driven from the monastery in Nepal--my home--for those beliefs. I am unwelcome now amongst those I once called brothers. Though we were not birthed from the same womb, I consider them a family to me. I have felt the pain of losing that family-- of being an outcast. But I have forgiven them and now my soul is at peace. Tell me, Genji--do you ever wonder when the fighting will end? When the rage and anger and bloodshed will conclude? When you will finally be able to leave the past behind you and move onward?”

“It will end when my brother lies dead.”

“No, it will not. Deep within your soul, you know this, Genji. There are many different paths to tread than the one you travel now. Let me guide you. I must continue on in my journey soon and I wish for you to come with me.”

Genji is motionless for a time and Zenyatta watches him patiently. He can tell his words have sent his thoughts spinning in new directions and patterns. That is all Zenyatta offers to others--a different perspective from which to see the world. Sometimes that is enough to inspire change within the soul.

Zenyatta continues evenly, “The Shimada have been defeated--do you find yourself now lacking purpose? I think you would benefit greatly as my pupil. I will let you think on it. I will only remain in Japan for another week, so please come and visit me again.”

 Genji’s sash sways about him as a light breeze gusts through the room. He stands and turns to leave; his silence could mean many things but Zenyatta prefers to think it contemplative. Genji tilts his head to look over his shoulder briefly, and then he’s gone.


	4. Chapter 4

Genji comes with a small linen rucksack which contains all of his worldly possessions. Again, his advent in cloaked in the heavy shades of night--blending with shadow as he slinks into Zenyatta’s room. 

Zenyatta is resting his systems but promptly awakens at his presence, the dots on his forehead guttering to life. “You've decided to come.” 

Genji unceremoniously drops the rucksack and seats himself at the low table. “There is little left in Japan for me,” he says simply. 

“There is a futon you may use in the closet. Your arrival is rather timely; we will depart in the morning--across the sea to Hawaii.” 

“In the morning…” Genji crosses his arms. “Very well.” 

Zenyatta pauses. “Tell me: do you travel only at night?” 

Genji’s awkward silence speaks many truths to Zenyatta “I thought it odd that your visits were only after sunset. Are you ashamed to be seen in the light of day?” 

“I do not...enjoy the looks I receive.” 

“You are a somewhat unique sight. What is it about these looks that bother you?” 

Genji looks away, arms still protectively crossed against his chest. “They look at me like I am not human.” 

Zenyatta can only imagine the expression hidden behind the barricade of Genji’s visor--Zenyatta envisions it to be as pained as his voice betrays. He floats closer to Genji and places the flat of his palm on Genji’s chest. “Inside you beats the heart of a man.” 

“People do not look at me like a man. They cannot see my heart.” 

Zenyatta keeps his hand steady over the place where a heart once beat. With his other hand, he lightly takes ahold of Genji’s wrist and likewise guides his palm to the center of his chassis. “There are many who cannot see my soul. But it is still there.” 

Zenyatta lets go of Genji’s wrist and Genji’s hand lingers fleetingly on the cool metal of his frame before being drawn away. Zenyatta then moves his palm onto Genji’s shoulder in a gesture of comfort. “Perhaps traveling with me, you will seem less out of place. An omnic monk of the Shambali receives many looks; I might even eclipse you, Genji.” 

Genji makes a small sound but quickly stifles it. Zenyatta recognizes it as a laugh--he thinks he would’ve liked a mouth, so that he might answer with a smile.

“I am so very pleased you returned. There is much we can learn from each other, my student.”

“I will not call you master,” Genji says, sounding surprisingly petulant. A laugh hums in Zenyatta’s voice box and he realizes that he already feels a fondness for his obstinate pupil. 

“That is fine. Call me whatever suits you.”


	5. Chapter 5

“We are going by boat?”

It’s warm and bright, a few clouds drifting intermittently over the midday sun. Genji adjusts the rucksack balanced over his shoulder as his visor flashes in the daylight. Zenyatta casts his gaze on his new pupil. 

“Omnic are rarely allowed on airplanes,” Zenyatta explains. “You were shuttled by Overwatch when you worked in tandem with them. Public transportation is different. Many fear an omnic will carry a bomb or something sinister within them--the airlines appear to share their unease, so this will have to do. It might take a while longer but alternatives must be found. One of the humans I consulted with helped to book us passage.”

Genji seems struck with consternation. “You’ve never traveled by air?” 

“Oh, I have. I have traveled on a private airplane before and at the behest of Overwatch. But there are many who fear omnic terror. Humans still live with the memory of war.”

“Is it just flying?” Genji asks. “What else are omnic banned from?”

Zenyatta thinks for a moment. “Many things, depending upon where you are in the world. There are some cities where omnic live peacefully alongside humans and others where omnic are shunned. For instance, I have been denied a room at hotel or a table at a restaurant. I have been bodily threatened on occasion. Fear casts a long shadow; it is important to instead shed light upon that shadow, so that it might lessen.”

Genji turns away and looks at the broad freighter docked before them. He says nothing more about the subject. Zenyatta gazes sorrowfully upon his back, knowing that he is grappling with strange and unpleasant truths. There exists beyond him a new, maze-like world to navigate--it might objectively be same world he walked in as a human, but now it will take on a different shape. 

“Take heart in this, my student,” Zenyatta finds himself saying, “there is kindness in every human soul. Some will meet you with fear or anger but those emotions are rooted deeply in past pain--loved ones taken by conflict, homes destroyed by war. Treat them gently and you will be surprised by their true nature, hidden beneath that shadow of fear.”

“You think too highly of human nature. Human nature is fear and hatred.”

“I am sad to hear you say that.” Zenyatta says. “I think there is much kindness in your own soul. You must be willing to see that same kindness in others.”

Genji scoffs at that. “I doubt it.”

“You are a warrior, but you are gentle. Closed to the world but truly kindhearted beneath you armor. If I did not think this of you, I would not have offered to make you my pupil.” 

Genji turns away from him, shoulders squared stiffly. Zenyatta thinks he might be flustered from the praise; it seems he did not receive much of it in his life. 

A man, presumably Zenyatta's friend, approaches them and thrusts out a calloused hand to Zenyatta. He gives them a few brief words of greeting and beckons them towards the towering freighter. It is clearly a ship meant for cargo and not creature comforts. Everything is grey and dull and rusted, stinking of brine. Other sailors are moving and accounting cargo, shouting at each other and wiping the sweat from their brows. Genji seems to suddenly realizes he will be on this freighter for two weeks rather than the matter of hours it would take by plane.

Their room is dingy and cramped. The sailor seems embarrassed to offer such accommodations but Zenyatta assures him with a gentle hand upon his forearm. The man offers Zenyatta words of repeated thanks for his guidance, giving Zenyatta brief details on how to locate him, should he require require anything. Zenyatta thanks him and gives a grateful bow of his head.

When they are alone, Genji lets his rucksack fall at the foot of a cramped cot with stained sheets. The room is windowless, uninspired--closer to a cell than anything. 

“It is not ideal, but we must make do with what we have,” Zenyatta says, folding his legs and letting himself drift several inches from the floor. “The cot is yours, my student. You are free to wander the ship, should you feel cramped. Have you ever been at sea before?”

“My grandfather liked to fish,” Genji says, seating himself on the far end of the cot. The cot groans in response. “My father and brother were too busy, so he often took me instead.”

“You speak fondly of him.”

“He died when I was ten. I did not go fishing again after that.”

Zenyatta places his palms together and lets his orbs drift around him. “I have never been fishing...perhaps you could teach me this, should the opportunity present itself. There are many human experiences I have never tried--your guidance in these matters could aid me greatly.” 

“You want to fish?” 

“In order to empathize with another being, one must open oneself to mutual experience. Understanding can spring from something as small as a shared interest--fishing was a part of your childhood. I did not have a childhood, as I was created in a state that does not grow or mature physically. I cannot empathize with nor understand the sensation of childhood, but there are things I can come to understand. I could share with you the experience of fishing, and possibly come to grasp a part of your past as both a human and a young boy. Perhaps in turn, I could expand your empathy for omnic.”

Genji falls back onto the cot, realizing that it’s stiff and lacking a pillow. He adjusts himself but it does little good. “Learning to fish won’t make omnic and humans stop killing each other,” he says, studying the patterns of rust on the ceiling. 

Zenyatta laughs at his cynicism. “Perhaps if all omnic and humans fished together, it might.”

Genji rolls over so his back is to Zenyatta, a low, exasperated sigh drifting from him. He shifts again but to no avail--the mattress still unsupportive and inflexible beneath him. 

Genji hears a faint rustling from the other side of the room. He glances over his shoulder to see Zenyatta has removed his pants and is meticulously folding them into a small rectangle. The thick, corded wiring beneath his metal frame is fully visible. Genji can espy all of the motorized joints and pistons that help to give him motion, as well as the vents that sit on either side of his hips. “Here,” Zenyatta says, coming closer and proffering the folded rectangle, “it seemed uncomfortable and I thought this might help.” 

Genji hesitates before taking the yellow bundle and placing it under the curve of his head. It does help a little, but he says nothing as he turns his back to Zenyatta once again.


	6. Chapter 6

Zenyatta begins his lessons simply. When he is not consulting with those in need, he first takes Genji on walks with him. Genji moves unsurely in the daylight, hyper-aware of the looks he receives. Nevertheless, Zenyatta insists they stroll openly together throughout the streets and along the shoreline. Genji questions the reason for these walks but Zenyatta gives him mild, vague answers.

Zenyatta tells him he must walk with pride, head held high. Genji is affronted by the suggestion of his own self-consciousness and accompanies him as if to refute the notion.

Hawaii is a beautiful place--full of swaying palms and cloudless skies. Genji especially seems to like the beach, often requesting the shoreline be included on their routes. Hawaii also proves to be more tolerant towards non-humans and Zenyatta hopes that Genji notices the other omnic woven into the crowds. 

After numerous walks together, Zenyatta brings Genji to a small cafe and orders him a coffee. Genji shifts unsurely in his seat, insisting that he isn’t thirsty. Yet Zenyatta knows how furtively he removes the front of his mask to eat. He rarely even allows Zenyatta to glimpse his face. Genji still walks in fear of his true self--the fear of being reviled for his difference.

“You musn’t be ashamed of your true self,” Zenyatta tells him from across the table. “Your face is a part of you. Tell me, my student, do you find the concealment of your face necessary?”

“I am scarred,” Genji says slowly. The waitress appears and sets down the coffee cup on the table, glancing curiously at the pair. As she leaves, Genji’s voice dips into a low, surreptitious register. “My face is…” Genji touches his hand to the visor, which obscures his more human features. “This is my face now.”

“What did you look like before?”

Genji looks down at the cup before him. “I do not know how to describe myself adequately. I was...told that I was handsome.”

“Ah, I do not doubt it!” Zenyatta says, clasping his hands together. “Do you not think you are handsome now?”

“No,” Genji grits out. “Now I look...monstrous. I do not look like myself.”

“I do not think you look monstrous,” Zenyatta retorts. “I still see a handsome man with kind eyes. You look nothing like a monster.”

“I think you are alone in that opinion.”

“You think harshly of yourself. Many have had to face changes in their physicality, whether it be because of scarification or prosthesis. Do you find them to be grotesque--monstrous?”

“I...no, I don’t.”

“Then why think this of yourself?”

Genji looks out the front window of the cafe, watching the passerbys. Zenyatta lets him think for a moment before gesturing to the cup of coffee. “Your coffee is growing cold, my student.”

Genji turns his gaze upon Zenyatta again. A hand slowly reaches up to detach the front of his mask. Zenyatta gives Genji an encouraging tilt of his head as Genji reaches down to grasp the handle of the cup and bring it to his lips.

Zenyatta and Genji part after they leave the cafe--Zenyatta still has many who seek his counsel. His consultations keep him occupied until sunset and by the time he reaches he and Genji’s hotel room, it is dark. 

Genji is nowhere to be found but that is not so unusual; he often slips out at night to practice his swordsmanship.

After closing the door behind him, Zenyatta notices there is something resting in the center of his pillow. He drifts over and picks up what he realizes to be a photograph. Zenyatta intuitively recognizes it as a picture of the Shimada brothers. There is the older, taller brother with long hair and serious expression. Beside him, the younger brother with a puerile face and a shock of green hair. Zenyatta laughs a little, touching his fingertips to the smirking, cheeky young man gazing at him from the past. 

Zenyatta carefully places the picture on the table beside Genji’s bed, feeling a profound warmth in his soul.


	7. Chapter 7

The light of a full moon, milky and opalescent, catches on the crests of dark ocean waves. The curve of the sea pushes and pulls against the sand with a small, gentle sound. There is the rustling of leaves as the palms sway, the occasional rattle of a passing car. The streetlights from the road above shine a dim, orange glow against the evening, casting their artificial incandescence upon the outer edges of the beach. 

Genji is moving through his stances like a dancer, flowing from one position to the next. His katana reflects fractals of light just as the ocean--the motion of his blade like tide. He is steady as his feet twist and pivot beneath him. 

Zenyatta has been content to watch him for a time. He has known that Genji goes alone to practice swordsmanship every night. Zenyatta had first thought to leave him in peace, but even one such as himself is not immune to curiosity. Zenyatta had only glimpsed his unsheathed blade but once--while it was pressed to the wiring of his neck. 

Zenyatta is somewhat in awe of his steely focus and his unfaltering form. The moody, avoidant Genji has become immovable in his focus. It is a fearsome change--the shift from man to warrior. 

Zenyatta wonders for a time if he ought to keep himself hidden, watching from a distance. But after the passage of several more minutes, he instead decides to make hismself known. 

Zenyatta floats closer towards Genji, who pauses in his movements when he sees the nine dots on Zenyatta’s forehead, cutting through the darkness. “Why are you here?” he asks, sheathing his blade in the hilt across the small of his back. 

“Tonight, I found myself curious to see your practice. I have been watching for some time--I apologize for the interruption.”

Genji turns his back to him, watching the rise and fall of the waves, their zenith rimmed in silver moonlight. 

“You are very skilled,” Zenyatta continues, “I am greatly impressed with your focus.”

“I was made to practice everyday,” Genji replies. “It seems a habit I am not able to break.”

“I was told the Shimada clan demanded much physical discipline. Perhaps we could practice together. I assume you are familiar with hand-to-hand techniques?”

Genji starts at this. “I did not think you knew the ways of combat.”

Zenyatta lets a laugh hum lowly in his voice box. “It is a dangerous world. One must always be prepared. And do not forget, my student, that I once worked with Overwatch. One cannot be their agent and lack for strength.” 

“I thought you a pacifist.”

“Oh, I am. Violence is not true strength, yet sometimes one must employ their strength to protect precious things. This is the true spirit of a warrior--the urge to protect, to turn strength towards the creation of harmony.”

“I was once told the measure of a warrior was how many foes he could fell. The greatest warrior would stand unopposed, looking down from the mountain of his enemies' corpses. With every death comes honor, they told me.”

“You do not believe this, my student.”

“No,” Genji says. He tilts his head back towards the moon, wan light making the grey of his armor seem colorless. “I do not know what a true warrior is. But I know that it is not what I was taught.”

Genji begins to untie the two scabbards suspended across his back. He lays them with careful reverence in the sand before turning to face Zenyatta. When he speaks, Zenyatta can hear brazenness echoing in his words.

“You are not the only who is curious,” Genji says, dropping into a combative stance, “since you claim you are a warrior worthy of Overwatch.”

The center of Zenyatta’s palms radiate a bluish effulgence. Their light grows in intensity as he guides his orbs with a curving arc of his arms. The orbs whorl about Zenyatta’s neck before being stacked neatly beside him. Genji notes the orbs’ impeccable balance--difficult to achieve considering their near-perfect roundness. 

Zenyatta then uncrosses his legs and lets his feet drift downward to touch upon the beach. It is still jarring to see him upright, as he stands several inches taller than Genji. “Before we begin, I propose a wager,” Zenyatta says, clasping his hands together.

“Oh?”

“Should I manage to knock you onto your back, you will call me master.”

“And if I knock you down?”

Zenyatta seems to consider this for a moment. “You will not have to call me master, of course. And you will be able to decide where we travel next.”

“Anywhere in the world? You will let me choose?”

“Of course. I am an omnic of my word.” 

Genji nods his head in assent. Zenyatta bends at the knee and likewise assumes the posture of a fighter. They hang suspended in the space between each other, as if neither desired to strike first. The face of the moon winks from overhead--the gentle wash of waves rhythmic. The grains of sand shift unsurely below them. They watch each other within this shared pocket of time-- solemn and statuesque.

Genji is the first to move. He leaps and then darts to the side, attempting to flank Zenyatta. But Zenyatta is quicker than his usual pace--leisurely adrift, inches above the ground. Instead, he twists himself to avoid Genji’s offensive and pivots to aim a kick at the center of Genji’s chest. Genji springs off of the sand and launches himself into a backflip to avoid the blow. 

They face each other again from several feet away, each evaluating the other. Zenyatta places the flats of his palms together as if in prayer. The dots upon his forehead glow as he focuses and redirects the power within his systems. The minute adjustments of energy to different processes--whether it be to throw a stronger punch, propel the legs faster, or strengthen shields--can be the difference between victory and defeat. Genji is still a novice to the delicate calibrations of his rebuilt body; he knows he cannot allow Zenyatta anymore time to strategize and allocate energy.

Genji darts across the sand, employing his extensive acrobatic skills. Zenyatta stands his ground, raising his arms to parry Genji’s swift rain of blows. Genji can see Zenyatta shuddering with effort from the weight of impact; Genji intensifies his flurry of attacks, managing to land a heavy punch to the center of Zenyatta’s chassis.

It occurs to Genji that Zenyatta has rerouted most of his power to his shields, as he manages to keep his footing despite the potent impact to his chest. He then swings his leg in a crushing kick, which Genji scarcely has time to defend against. The force of it makes him stumble, but he manages to regain his footing. Not wanting to give Zenyatta time to recover, he charges again, snatching Zenyatta’s leg as he tries to land another kick and using the momentum to pitch him onto the sand. 

Genji leans down over Zenyatta, offering his hand. Zenyatta takes it gratefully and hauls himself to his feet. He uses the back of his hands to swipe at the grains of sand in the folds of his pants and the crevices of his wiring. “Well fought, my student,” Zenyatta says.

“It has been some time since a blow was landed on me.” Genji makes his way over to where his katanas rest on the sand begins to strap them back onto his person. “Are the orbs your primary weapon?”

“Yes,” Zenyatta answers, “they are my principal defense, should the need arise.”

“And my prize?” Genji prompts after fastening his katanas into place. He sounds like a child awaiting a reward for his good behavior; it makes a tender laugh rise in Zenyatta’s voice box. 

“You shall have it,” Zenyatta says, “though I must admit, I wished you might call me master. Tell me, where should we travel to next? The span of the world is before us, my student.”

“I am not sure…” Genji bows his head in thought. “Where were you planning to go next?”

“A most important brother of mine, Tekhartha Mondatta, is speaking in London next month. I thought we might stay in America for a time before departing to London to hear his speech.” 

“I have heard of him. The Shambali monk giving speeches across the world, calling for peace.”

“Yes,” Zenyatta says, “he was a mentor to me, when I was with the Shambali. Sadly, we had a difference of opinion, yet I still respect him above all others. He aided me in finding my own way and seeing my true soul. The passage of time has seen our paths divided, but still I would like to hear him speak.”

Genji considers this for a moment. “As long as we are near the ocean, I do not care where we go.”

“Are you certain? I was thinking we could cross the sea to California. There is a city--Los Angeles--where omnic and human live as true equals. I have very much desired to see it. It is a coastline area, as well.”

“America…” Genji trails. “That is acceptable.”

“My student is generous!” Zenyatta retrieves his orbs with a flick of his wrist. They sail through the air and return to encircle him. “If there is anything you wish to see or do there, do not hesitate to ask. Are you finished with your practice? If you are, then let us return.”

Zenyatta is met with uneasy silence. “Is everything alright, Genji?”

“Why are you doing this?”

“This?”

Genji turns to him, the green edging of his armor flickering against the night. “Why have you insisted I stay with you this long? What is your goal?”

“My goal is for you to find inner peace. You do not think yourself worthy of happiness. You do not see your virtues--only the old remonstrations of the Shimada. You do not see yourself as a man with a heart and a soul. You see yourself now as a being detached from the Genji you once were but this is not so. I do not think anyone has ever spoken these words to you, but to reject one’s intended path requires a strong spirit. You were not content to meekly comply; you found your own way and had the audacity, even in your youth, to defy injustice. I see before me a remarkable man with great pain in his heart. You are worthy of the highest praise but you have only ever thought yourself a failure. I wish for you to see yourself with the same adulation I do. I did not offer to make you my student simply because I wished for a traveling companion.”

“Why do you say such things?” Genji asks thickly. His hands are balled into fists at his side. “Why?”

“You are a good man, Genji--with a true warrior’s spirit. It is time you stopped hating yourself for everything you feel you are not and begin to love your true self for all that it is. You have lived a life devoid of praise and so you are afraid to believe any. Yet there is a great future lying ahead of you, though you have turned your eyes away from it, believing yourself unworthy. I hope to guide you, if even a little, towards that future.”

Zenyatta extends a hand to a trembling Genji. “Now, let us go, my student.”


	8. Chapter 8

Zenyatta begins schooling Genji in the art of meditation in their cramped California hotel room. 

When Zenyatta confers his lessons, Genji listens with overconfident flippancy. He has been trained in the art of battle from his youngest years; he thinks himself able to conquer any physical test. Zenyatta’s explanation of the mental aspect of meditation doesn’t seem to stick.

Indeed, the extended hours of silent meditation began to fray Genji’s nerves. He is a being of raw, frenetic energy. His mind and body rebel against stillness and he drives himself to distraction. Rather than meditation calming his thoughts, they wander wildly without the diversion of physical motion. He seems unable to tame the unwieldy vicissitudes of his mind and oftentimes he steps out early during their sessions.

“It is too loud,” Genji complains to Zenyatta, rising from the discolored carpet and stretching his limbs. “I can hear everything. The air conditioning, the cars on the street below, the doors outside opening and closing. If we are meditating, should we not be in silence?”

“A good question, my student,” Zenyatta says, which chafes Genji. He feels patronized by Zenyatta’s patient teaching, mistaking encouragement for indulgence. “Absolute silence is manmade--inherently unnatural. Picture yourself alone in a forest--what do you hear? There is the wind in the leaves, the scattering of the underbrush, creatures of all kinds scampering about. Picture now a desert. There is the whistling wind, the shifting of the sand. Where there is life, there is sound. Even an omnic generates sound--steam releasing through the valves, the minute hum of the motors within us. Meditation is not about silence or solitude; it is about a transformation within the mind. When true calm is achieved through meditation. It can lend a sense of clarity and concentration, as well as allow you to discern the true nature of your thoughts.”

“I cannot sit still like this,” Genji says, his face creasing in a sour expression. He has become more comfortable removing his visor; he now often discards it in the privacy of his and Zenyatta’s hotel room.

Zenyatta laughs at his irritability. “You do not see the value of these exercises and so they frustrate you. Perhaps a tangible display will help.”

Genji perches himself on the edge of his bed, arms crossed. He waits for whatever display he was promised, unimpressed as the minutes drag on. His interest has almost completely waned when light bursts around Zenyatta. He extends his arms as six phantom limbs materialize, making him look like a brilliant specter. He drifts higher from the carpet as his orbs form a golden ring enclosing him. Genji holds his arm out to shade his eyes from the dazzling sight, dark spots flashing across his vision.

The most remarkable thing is the sensation within Genji’s body. A warm, invigorating feeling makes every nerve pulse with euphoria. He finds himself rising from the side of the bed to stand fully in the orange sunburst wreathing Zenyatta.

The light fades and the excess limbs dissipate. Zenyatta drifts slowly to the floor, looking somewhat exhausted as steam escapes from his valves.

“What was that?” Genji asks, breathless.

“Transcendence. When I achieve true calm within my soul, I can pass into that state.”

“Could I do that? If I mastered meditation?”

“No, I do not think so, but you are in possession of your own unique talents. Doctor Ziegler informed me that you can control a dragon. Is this true?”

“Yes, I can.” Genji’s mouth is twisted in a confused frown. “What does that have to do with the meditation?”

“No doubt, the summoning of the dragon requires mental fortitude and strength of will. Your brother can also control a dragon. Tell me, my student, was there parity of strength between you and your brother’s dragon?”

“My brother’s dragon was always superior,” Genji says with contempt.

“Consider, then, what the mastery of  your mind might yield. Were you to achieve your own form of Transcendence, your dragon might become stronger.”

Genji’s eyes widen and he quickly resumes his seat on the carpet, assuming a meditative posture. Zenyatta laughs lightly at the sight. “Perhaps I am a poor teacher; I fear I am too quick to give you answers rather than let you find them yourself.”

“So this meditation can truly make my dragon stronger?”

“You are ahead of yourself, my student. The point of the exercise is for you to achieve transformation within the mind. Whether it benefits your dragon is periphery to the point. Looking upon your own mind with true calm and clarity will help you to achieve greater peace. It will not just make you more fearsome in combat, but more whole in spirit.”

Genji places his palms together and closes his eyes, straining for total stillness. His incipient zeal for meditation makes Zenyatta sigh. As fond as he is of his student, Genji rarely turns his gaze to broader horizons. He still holds onto trivialities, such as he and his brother’s rivalry. But perhaps the incentive of a fiercer dragon will lead him a step closer towards Transcendence. If he truly masters meditation, he will surely be able to glimpse beyond the ego of self and into the vastness of being.

At least, this is what Zenyatta tells himself.  

Zenyatta notes that Genji is slouching forward slightly. Zenyatta floats behind him, placing hands on Genji’s sides and gently correcting his posture.

“Keep your back straight,” Zenyatta chides. “Imagine a string running through you, pulling you upward.”

“A string…” Genji parrots under his breath, shifting his legs and squaring his shoulders. There are deep lines of concentration creasing his pink, uneven skin. He takes measured breaths.

“You are focusing too much upon your breathing, my student. Do it naturally, comfortably. Be mindful of your drifting thoughts. Let them come and go without judgement.”

They continue on for some time before Genji grows too restless to continue. He paces the room like an animal in a cage.

“Shall we go for a walk?” Zenyatta suggests, “It is remarkable to see so many omnic living harmoniously with humans, and I wish to see more of the city before we must depart for London.”

“It is...very crowded here.”

“Do you not feel more at ease in such a place, my student? You are not an outcast here.”

“I still feel an outcast,” Genji says as he snaps his visor back into place.

“It saddens me to hear this. I fear a soul that is lost cannot feel at home anywhere. But you are a bright pupil and I am confident you will soon find your way. Will you still walk with me?”

Genji answers with a curt nod of his head. The two set out beneath the streetlamps, into the early evening. They pass endless people and omnic alike, chattering in an array of languages. There are bars and shops and cars, which whizz down the narrow streets. It is more sound and color than Genji has seen in a long time and he isn’t sure if this evokes nostalgia or heartache. He particularly notes the crowds outside restaurants and bars--men in sport coats and women’s heels clicking against uneven asphalt.

“Is there anywhere you wish to go?”

Genji starts from the isolation of his thoughts. “I...no. Nowhere.”

“Are you certain?” Zenyatta is no fool and knows when Genji is concealing his true thoughts. Genji had always been easy to read; it had been one of the chief complaints against him during his training. He vividly remembers Hanzo barking at him, trying to confer the art of subtlety and manipulation. But there was nothing dishonest in Genji; even polite dishonesty was discarded in favor of brute straightforwardness. He had told his father what he thought of him, what he thought of Hanzo, what he thought of the Shimada. He hadn’t been able to keep those words, ringing like bells in his head, a secret.  

“I often used to go to places like that,” Genji says, tilting his chin towards a nearby bar, packed to the brim. A line stretches beyond the door and the people waiting talk and smoke. “I snuck out of the estate, as often as I could, to go drinking. I would be out until the break of dawn, when I would try to sneak back into my bed, reeking of alcohol. Sometimes if I was feeling daring, I would bring a girl with me. That angered Hanzo more than anything.”

“A troublemaker,” Zenyatta says.

“Yes.” Genji quickens his pace. “I cannot get drunk anymore. I have tried. Even simply eating or drinking...I do not require food to sustain myself, though I can process it for energy. Everything tastes different now...ashen. I…”

Zenyatta places a hand upon Genji’s arm. “It is as I said before. You feel your soul is lost, cast out from the body of the Genji you once were. But this is not so. You are not half machine, half man. You are a whole being.”

“I took many things for granted, back then...Simple things, such as the taste of ramen and beer.  Being able to hold another…” Genji lapses into silence, obviously embarrassed at himself.

“Your life will not be devoid of love or pleasure.”

“I have felt only misery since I became the way I am now.”

“Because you have not opened yourself up to joy.”

A frustrated sound tears through Genji’s faceplate. He yanks Zenyatta from the sidewalk and into an adjacent alleyway, pressing him roughly against the brick. “You give me no solutions!” You give me pretty words and empty promises!”

“Genji,” Zenyatta says, still unaffected despite the rough grip caging him, “I cannot make your pain disappear. You must do that on your own.”

“Where then? Where should I put this pain?” Genji’s voice is rising, frantic and wrathful. “You want me to find peace and balance. What peace is there in this broken world? My brother cut me in two on his sword and you tell me to heal the wound with  _ forgiveness _ ? You tell me I will be whole if I simply empty my mind and meditate? I will never be myself again! I will always be a  _ thing  _ rather than a man. I have lost everything! And you tell me to open my eyes, as if I am not already seeing the truth!”

Genji is shouting now, steam whistling from his valves. He pauses to catch his breath, shoulders slumping slightly. “It was foolish of me to come with you,” he spits.

Genji is on the verge of turning away but is stopped by Zenyatta’s arms reaching out to embrace him. Zenyatta gently draws Genji’s head into the crook of his shoulder; Genji is rendered motionless with surprise.

“Genji,” Zenyatta says, voice low, “I am sorry. I am sorry for what happened to you.”

When Genji begins to weep, Zenyatta keeps a firm hold upon him. Genji tries to stifle himself but the tears seep through. The years of pain and betrayal and hurt eke out from a cracked dam of anger.

“I am so very sorry,” Zenyatta echoes once again.


	9. Chapter 9

The journey to London is a slow, varied one. They travel by bullet train and bus, by subway and taxi. Since airplanes are not an option, their path is a roundabout one. Yet Genji takes the time to appreciate the vastness of America. He is used to a densely populated Japan; the sheer emptiness of the midwest is somehow compelling to him. The sky seems infinite when it echoes plains, deserts, cornfields. They meet many people of all different sorts, each bearing their own questions for a former monk of the Shambali.

 Zenyatta answers all of them in that measured, modulated voice. He begins inviting Genji to sit in on his consultations with the consent of his guests. Genji reposes cross-legged and silent as he absorbs these encounters; each person offers a story and doubts to be cleansed. Zenyatta brings many to tears. Genji can even begin to discern the faint indicators of emotion betrayed by omnic guests.

 Zenyatta asks for no recompense for his services and only takes what is insistently given. It is hardly enough for travel and lodging but Zenyatta seems content with a meager pilgrimage. Genji watches him with slight suspicion, as if waiting for the moment where his true designs be revealed. The moment never comes but Genji continues to watch carefully, unsure of whether or not he wants his doubts to be proven or disproven. He still finds himself wondering what this omnic stands to gain. He was once a member of an exalted organization; Genji watches television in their hotel rooms and often sees his former peer, Mondatta, on the news. Mondatta’s activism has made him something close to a celebrity, draped in fine robes and attended by a suited entourage. Zenyatta is shabby in comparison with his bare chassis and fraying pants.

  _Why are you doing this? What are your motives?_ These simple questions remain unanswered to Genji. He had learned of the worst of humankind from a tender age; omnics were made by humans, in a human image. Were they bound by the same failings as their creators? The more abstract the thought, the more it frustrates Genji. He craves absolutes above all. Evil could be killed on his sword, good protected by it.

He remembers clearly Zenyatta brushing away a tear from a woman’s face. A metal hand on dark brown skin, comforting and cool. Her grateful smile, the warm glow in her eye. An omnic helping her to bear her grief, when just twenty years ago a similar hand might have torn the life from her flesh.

 _How are you feeling?_ Zenyatta asks Genji this everyday. He listens no matter how brusque the reply is. Genji almost always answers in monosyllables but Zenyatta persists.

_How are you feeling today, my student?_

A pointless question, he thinks. A question he has never been asked before and with such persistence. What does it matter? What does it matter?

_You must feel many different emotions, Genji. You must sense them, acknowledge them, let them pass freely. You do not have to tell me if you wish, but I find it helps to say them aloud. You cannot hold everything within yourself._

A pointless answer, he thinks. Nothing good comes of those thoughts. He cannot think of the ache in the pit of himself, cannot tear away the very walls that keep him upright. His embarrassing outburst hangs like a specter in his memory. He cannot kill the man he once called brother with such weakness in his heart.

_How are you feeling, Genji?_

It infuriates him--enrages him beyond reason. He feels a hard lump swell in his throat, his stomach twist. He thinks it first to be pure anger but he knows that to be a lie. A pointless question. A pointless question.

When has that ever mattered?

Genji finds himself falling deeper into his meditation. It’s hypnotic, almost, as his thought surge around him. He closes his eyes and imagines himself scaling the edge of a great cliff while the ocean foams and rises beneath him. Will this meditation make his dragon stronger? A more pertinent question, he decides.

The days ebb and flow, swirling together and becoming indistinguishable. Endless meditation, endless travel. The same question posed every morning when he rises with the sun--

_How are you feeling?_

It doesn’t matter, Genji knows. It has never mattered. Why should it to this metal shell who plays at having a soul?

It’s an unkind thought; he feels a ripple of guilt.

_You do not have to bear this alone._

A lie, Genji thinks. He has always been alone.

They disembark from American shores on a small shipping vessel bound for England. Salt spray spatters against Genji as he walks the deck at night, watching the stars. He wants to climb up the mast, up and up into the sky until he disappears.

He takes off his visor and feels the ocean air against his ruined face. In the darkness, no one can see what has become of him.

He tips his head back to gaze at the moon, floating half-full against a spangled tapestry of sky. A searing sensation strikes him for a moment, reminding him of the blade that nearly claimed him.

Genji touches his hand to his cheek and sees wetness gleaming dully on his fingertips.

“A pointless question,” he whispers hoarsely to himself.   


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the slow updates. The Depression™ has been getting pretty bad lately (and I've been projecting a lot of it onto Genji. Sorry buddy.) I'm still not dead though and this will eventually be finished!

Genji’s impression of England is that of overwhelming greyness. The seaside is hazy and overcast, gulls beating their wings against a thick ceiling of clouds. He is beleaguered from their long and uncomfortable passage; the constant spray of ocean water has left a deep ache in his joints. The weather seems an uncanny match for his mood as he steps off the ship. 

Zenyatta, conversely, seems to be in high spirits. He shakes the hand of the boat’s captain and gives him ample thanks for allowing them along. He strides back towards Genji after bidding farewell and places a hand upon his shoulder. 

“Something is troubling you, my student.” It’s posed not as a question, but rather a statement. His sureness irks Genji, perhaps even more so because he is right. There is no accusation to this statement, however, just a gentle prompt. When Genji says nothing in turn, Zenyatta continues. “You have been unusually quiet today and your mind was unfocused during meditation. Are you perhaps nervous to see London? I understand that it is not always the kindest place to omnics.”

“No,” Genji says, shrugging off the weight of his hand. “My joints ache a little. The ocean can do that to me.”

“Oh! Are you in need of maintenance? Should I contact Dr. Ziegler?”

“No, that is unnecessary.” Genji feels a touch embarrassed at the sudden, effusive concern. “It’s just discomfort. It will pass.”

“You needn’t endure what you don’t have to, my student.”

Zenyatta tilts his head--his version of a smile. “If I can do anything to ease that discomfort, please inform me of it.”

Genji makes a noncommittal sound, perplexed as to why he feels another wave of embarrassment roll over him.

“Now,” Zenyatta says, “we must find lodgings. Mondatta will be speaking tomorrow evening. I had hoped for a chance to speak with him but he has quite an entourage of bodyguards nowadays. I doubt we’ll be allowed close enough for that. It’s a shame, I would’ve liked for you to meet him.”

They begin strolling away from the docks, a crisp wind blustering around them. They were bound for another day of tedious travel by public transit and foot until they reach London. Genji feels a tired sigh rise to his lips, shoulders braced against the gusts of wind that barrel past him. “I thought you left the Shambali,” Genji says, and the words come out more sharply than intended. 

Zenyatta hardly pauses at that. “We had a differing of opinion but that is no reason to lessen my esteem for him or to not cherish the years we spent together. Humans possess a variety of opinions themselves and disagree on most everything. I’d like to believe that our parting serves as proof that omnics are as individual and differing as any human being.”

Zenyatta tilts his head to glance over at Genji as another blast of air crests over them. “You are not cold?” 

“I do not feel cold or heat with the intensity I used to. It would have to be close to arctic for it to affect me.”

“Ah, I was unsure how sensitive your body was to the elements. I shall bear that in mind.”

They continue on in silence for a time. Genji feels sudden words rise in his throat like bile as his thoughts stir in the overwhelming quiet. 

“I’m sorry,” he finds himself saying. Zenyatta pauses, the incline of his head bespeaking of confusion. The words rise up again, and Genji feels as though they have to be made free, lest he choke on them. “I cannot continue on with you. In truth I only began traveling with you because you were sent by Dr. Ziegler; I owe her much and could hardly refuse.” 

Zenyatta’s head tilts downward and there is a thoughtful pause before he speaks. “If you wish for our paths to diverge, there is little I can do to stop you. You must want true healing of your own accord and be unafraid of the pain that accompanies that path. But do know this: I’ve enjoyed traveling with you by my side and I will be sad to see you go. There is much you have accomplished, though sometimes it is hard to see progress as it appears in the present.”

“I am...sorry,” Genji apologizes again, a curl of guilt ensnaring his heart. But he knows he cannot walk whatever path of healing Zenyatta speaks of. A scar cannot heal. His life, his body, his heart, are already twisted beyond repair. He knows this beyond any doubt and no amount meditation or conversation can uproot these simple truths. These truths that have kept him moving and alive for years, as if running on the fumes of despair and anger.

Genji starts when a metal palm brushes the side of his visor, comforting him. “Did I not tell you, my student, to not endure what is unnecessary? You needn’t feel guilty. If we are meant to be apart, then so be it. Please do not punish yourself with unkind thoughts.”

Genji places his own hand atop the one cradling his cheek. He wonders where the immense sadness welling up in him sprung from. But he has made his choice, and knows the fate he is consigned to. Zenyatta sells an idyllic portrait of the future, but ultimately an unrealistic one for someone like him.

“Grant me one thing, Genji,” Zenyatta begins, and the sound of his own name paralyzing Genji, “I want you still to come with me to hear Mondatta. I think it will be helpful to you.”

Zenyatta’s implacable faceplate is turned towards him, the dots on his forehead gleaming. Genji tightens his grip on Zenyatta’s hand.

“Alright,” he says.


End file.
